


Secret Admirer

by griseldajane



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Devotion, Double Drabble, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Sibling Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griseldajane/pseuds/griseldajane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young man approaches Loki with horrifying gift to show his obsessive admiration for the God of Mischief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Admirer

**Author's Note:**

> Due to the overwhelming response to “Secret Admirer” on tumblr, I decided write a little bit more and offer up a “part 2” as a THANK YOU for your support. (It’s not exactly a new story as it's been on tumblr for a few weeks, but I wanted to add this to my AO3 works.) 
> 
> This is just an extended drabble with some artwork attached-- an exercise of unadulterated hurt/comfort.
> 
> **Heed the warnings:** massive hurt/comfort, angst and _both_ the images contain **graphic violence and blood.** If this is something that might bother you, then please skip this piece!

**SECRET ADMIRER**

**\-- PART I--**

“I got you a present,” the young man says and he smiles wide, grin lopsided but genuine, with a shy flirty look in his eyes. "It took me a long time to figure out what to get you. But it's _perfect,_ I think."

Loki does not return the smile. He stands perfectly still, unnerved by the danger he’s sensing from this mortal. 

The man before him is young, perhaps not more than twenty years old by Midgardian standards, yet Loki's vigilance is not tempered by his youth. He knows better than to be fooled by appearance. 

The young man saunters forward a step, juggling a black bag back and forth between his hands a few times, a show of nerves, before holding it out to him. When Loki makes no move to accept the proffered gift, the youth tosses the black bag towards him. 

Loki does not catch it, watching it bounce once and roll away. Whatever is contained within is heavy and quickly comes to a stop before it reaches his feet. 

“You’re a sharp one,” the youth remarks. “Most people would have caught that on reflex. Come on, don’t be shy,” he says. “It’s worthy of your interest.”

Still, Loki does not deign to pick it up. 

The young man sighs, his lovesick veneer cracking with impatience, and he bends to retrieve the bag. “After all the trouble I went through to get this,” he mutters. “I guess I’ll have to open it myself.”

He holds up the object and pulls the bag from it as if unveiling a work of art. “For you, my dear, with my best regards.”

A metal helmet rests in his hand. With wing adornments and battle worn metal, it is none other than Thor’s helm. 

“Oh, do I have your attention now?” the young man coos, throwing the helmet at him and this time Loki does catch it.

Once it is between his hands, and his fingers trace over metal clearly forged by the dwarves of Nidarvellir, Loki knows with terrifying truth that this is Thor’s helm, the very one he used to tease him about when Thor was still his brother. 

It’s dirty now, splattered with mud and the inside is stained with deep, red blood. It’s wet still, _fresh,_ and the blood trickles over the sides of the helmet as he examines it, tainting his pale fingers with Thor's lifeblood. 

“You don’t like it,” the youth says, disappointed, and in that moment any tender feelings he harbored towards Loki turn to rage in the face of rejection. “Well, that’s a _shame.”_

“What have you done?” Loki whispers. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. And with all the arrogance in the world, he replies, _“I_ killed Thor. I thought you’d be pleased.”

He's smiling again, bristling with deranged pride. And something else-- there's a challenge there too, a gauntlet thrown upon the ground. 

Whether this “gift” was meant to please him or provoke him, Loki is unsure. The young man’s mood oscillates on a wire, swinging between infatuation and malice on a whim.

Loki does not know if the mercurial youth wants to possess him or kill him, but either way there will be a fight. Energy crackles around this young man, a subtle tremor that less attuned beings would not perceive. But Loki does. 

This is no ordinary mortal.

_Mutant,_ Loki thinks. His first encounter with this realm’s mutant population had him mistaking them for earth-sorcerers, until he realized, though some were quite powerful, they knew nothing of seidr. 

“This does not prove you have killed him,” Loki replies at last. “You could be nothing but an exceptional thief.”

“What, you wanted his _head_ with the helmet? That’s a little dark,” he says. “Even for you.” 

“His body, then, where is it?” Loki asks because he knows two things to be true: Thor is _not_ dead, and he would never part with his helm unless it was pried from his insentient grasp.

Thor is injured somewhere, _left_ for dead, but the fool could not have actually _died_ , not at the hands of this _child,_ not all alone and certainly not without Loki’s knowledge.

“Thor's six feet under. Pushing up daisies,” the young man says and he chuckles, completely unafraid. “I gave him a good and proper burial, though. Lifted rock from the earth and laid the God of Thunder to rest underneath. I thought a mountain was a rather fitting headstone."

_Buried alive,_ Loki thinks, suppressing a shiver. 

Loki looks up from the helmet, leveling his cold gaze upon him and the youth has the gall to look bemused. 

“Thor was a real challenge at first, I have to admit it,” he says. “But then I told him about all the things I was going to do to you when I got you under my hands at last, and he got _real_ sloppy _real_ fast."

_"Where_ have you buried him?" Loki asks. He best get this information first because there is no telling what condition this young man will be in when Loki is through with him. 

_"Why?_ You want to lay _flowers_ on the grave?" the youth snarls, his jealousy a nigh tangible thing, like a halo around him. 

His power bristles and Loki feels the earth shake under his feet and the young mutant hasn't done more than take a covetous step towards him, his hands balled into fists. He is truly powerful for one so young and is used to simply taking what he wants, nothing but a spoiled, petulant child. 

“Thor loved you,” he spits, “Like, a lot, which was kind of a mind trip at first when I realized it. He came at me harder, but once I knew what his red flag was I easily lured the bull into my trap.”

His anger deflates and is replaced with a look of surprise. He cocks his head, staring at Loki with bewildered realization. 

“Huh. You're actually kind of upset, aren't you?" he says, his brow creasing with confusion. 

And Loki sees understanding in the boy's eyes, _You loved him back._ This knowledge hurts whatever fantasy the youth had dreamed up for them, shaking the very foundation of his delusion.

“You expect my gratitude for such insolence?” Loki says. “You should be thanking me that I would see his body with my own eyes.”

“And why’s _that?”_ he asks, impudent, his jealousy turned to resentment once more. 

“If you have indeed _slain_ the mighty Thor, there is no place where you can hide that will spare you from my wrath.”

 

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**PART II**

 

There’s a glint of metal under the dirt, then a shock of red fabric, and strands of flaxen hair darkened with grime. Loki tears at the earth with his bare hands now, desperate to get to his brother buried beneath. 

The youth has literally done what he said: flung Thor into a crevice of earth and piled dirt on top of him.

"Thor," Loki gasps, brushing the dirt from his face. It clings to his skin, stuck there by the dramatic head wound against his brow. His fingers fasten around the clasps where his cape meets the pauldron and Loki pulls hard, heaving Thor up against him. The God of Thunder is a dead weight against his chest and he cradles him like a child in the circle of his arms. 

“You damn fool,” Loki whispers, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. 

He tilts Thor's head to the side and dirt leaks from his mouth. 

Aesir are terribly difficult to kill, and Thor more stubborn than most. For a moment, Loki fears the deranged youth has succeeded where others have failed, where he himself had failed. 

Loki does not know how long Thor has been buried, nor how long he can survive without water, nor air, nor light, nor how long he can survive all these hardships while injured. 

The young mutant who has done this _refused_ to tell him. Recalling his last few hours, Loki's wrath redoubles. 

Loki fought the crazed young mutant fiercely-- their battle was one of spurned affection and love lost, strong emotions that gave rise to great energies within. 

The youth was a strong opponent, wielding power to manipulate the earth and the atmosphere right out from under Loki's feet, but he was an inexperienced warrior making costly mistakes that Loki exploited to his full advantage. 

Using the earth to crush Loki, to lift him upward and send him headlong into the ground, the youth had nearly cleaved Loki's arm from the socket, breaking his clavicle without question. 

Pain shot down his limb and splintered across his chest and he reasoned, during that moment of delirious agony, that the little beast had snapped him open. In that white hot burst of pain, his thoughts turned to Thor, entombed in an unmarked grave, damned to eternal rest there if Loki did not get up. 

Loki spared just enough time and seidr to set his bones and pop his shoulder back into the socket as he could not rescue Thor without the use of his arm. 

The young man snarled with rage when Loki rose from the ground, injured but ready to continue fighting for Thor. He cursed Loki for being another letdown in his short, disappointing life, for failing to live up to his romantic fantasy of supremacy, for refusing to submit to him and be _his._

These were merely words. The deranged youth had nothing left _but_ words, his physical powers spent too soon on eagerness and ego. 

Even as the youth lay bleeding, his life in peril, he refused to give Loki the only words he coveted-- words revealing where Thor was laid to rest. 

It was petulant _spite_ and nothing more that held his tongue. He would not say, no matter how Loki pressed him, because _this_ was the most grievous wound he could inflict upon Loki and he knew it. The youth would die for his spitefulness, and in doing so would take Thor's resting place with him. 

When the youth’s throat no longer worked, when no amount of reasoning, threatening or pleading could reach him, Loki left him in a pool of his own fluids to seek out his brother, as he had done once before through Thor’s beloved weapon, Mjolnir. It was his last hope that he could find Thor in this vast realm before any prospect of finding his brother alive was destroyed. 

The Norns smiled on him this day because Loki found Mjolnir before the sun set, discarded in a crater of its own making. The flash of triumph was soon eclipsed by dismay as he surveyed the surrounding land and did not see disturbed ground, nor any trace of battle, nor where Thor might rest. The setting sun was upon him. He would lose the light and so would lose Thor with it.

Thor was maddeningly close, _he had to be,_ but where exactly eluded him. Exhausted and in pain, Loki felt suddenly overwhelmed while he looked in all directions and saw no trace of his brother. 

As his panic mounted, Loki recalled the youth’s words. _Lifted rock from the earth and laid the God of Thunder to rest underneath. I thought a mountain was a rather fitting headstone._

With a flourish of cape, Loki transfigured into a falcon, flying towards the mountain looming in the distance, and _there_ in the lee of the rocky summit, Loki spied a large patch of disturbed earth. 

This is where he fervently dug his brother up and where he now clings to Thor’s unconscious form in the waning light of early evening. 

Loki envelops his sorcery around Thor like a cloak, raising him up from the grave, and laying him out on an undisturbed patch of grass. Spinning gossamer wisps of seidr between his fingers, Loki sends the tendrils after every speck of dirt in Thor's throat, pulling it from his lungs and his stomach, sweeping it from his eyes and nose, purging the dirt from all his wounds. 

“Breathe for me,” Loki says, splaying his hands across Thor’s chest and they uncontrollably tremble against his mud-caked breastplate. 

_From the shoulder injury,_ Loki thinks, and does not dwell on the tightness in his throat nor the tears welling in his eyes. 

He pulses magic through his chest. Thor's body shudders, then lies still. 

"Do not _dare_ to ignore me," Loki says as he forces another pulse through, and then another, in futile, useless attempts to revive his brother. 

His vision blurs, wavering, and in the dimming light, it is as sheltered a place as any to let loose a heaving sob. 

Just as despair clenches around Loki’s heart, Thor gasps, his eyes opening wide and startled, and he shoots upwards. 

Scrambling back, Loki just barely manages to avoid getting cracked in the head by Thor’s thick skull as he clambers to his feet as if to escape. 

Thor manages not more than a few tottering steps before his legs buckle and he collapses hard onto his side, arms clutching around his chest, curling into himself as he takes large heaving gulps of air. Visibly trembling, Thor writhes on the ground against the tremendous strain that has been imposed on his body.

On hands and knees, Loki approaches him, slowly and with rapt attention, as one would a wounded animal, until he’s kneeling within an arm’s reach of his brother. 

Shaking all over, Thor eyes him warily, shying back, a pathetic attempt to keep distance between them. 

A splinter of remorse pricks at Loki's heart and he says, "Peace, Thor. Peace," as he realizes Thor thinks Loki is there to harm him further. "I mean to help you, if you’ll let me."

Thor stares at him, his eyes such an electric blue that Loki wonders how he ever thought Thor’s life could be snuffed out. But still, the dolt is hurt, and quite seriously by the look of his trembling. He needs Loki’s assistance whether he wants to accept it or not. 

Moving closer, Loki asks, “May I touch you?”

Thor nods, but looks no less tense. 

Curling a hand around Thor’s forearm, Loki holds his firm but gentle grip there in reassurance until Thor unwinds a bit, the strain softening from the lines of his brow, and then with his other hand, Loki reaches for his face, tilting his chin to get a better look at the head wound. 

Thor swallows, screwing his eyes tight against the discomfort that slight movement caused. 

Loki slides his arm under Thor’s shoulders, helping him to sit up, and he conjures a flask of water.

He holds the flask to Thor's lips, whispering “Easy,” as Thor chokes down a greedy gulp. He coughs and sputters, the water coming up pink. 

His breath pulls sharp and strained through his lips as Thor labors to breathe. Holding Thor firmly upright, Loki bends, pressing his ear to Thor's chest, hearing a terrible wheeze as breath rattles in his chest like a great whistling wind. 

_Punctured lung,_ he thinks. _Fractured ribs._

“How?” Thor whispers, the one word an agony. _How did you find me?_

“The youth presented me with your helmet. Proclaimed he'd killed you. I needed to see something like _that_ with my own eyes.”

“Would have,” Thor rasps. _“If,”_ he says clasping a hand over Loki's wrist. _If not for you,_ he means. 

He coughs again, failing to quash a moan of pain. 

"What a terrible state you are in Thor," Loki says. “One would think you battled an army, not merely a child.” 

Loki says this in jest, but knows that the youth was not a child, and certainly not a _mere_ anything. Thor was buried deep in a rift of the earth, which the youth used as a vise to crush Thor and crack his ribcage like a walnut shell. 

His coughing is a terrible sound, and Thor clutches hard at his chest as he tries to get breath in his lungs again.

“Be calm, Thor,” Loki says, smoothing his hand along the taut planes of his back. “Do not panic.”

The pain and the sudden lack of breath is too great for him, and Thor falls back against his hold, unconscious. 

“Oh, my brother,” Loki whispers, cradling him close. These tender feelings, Loki does not understand them, but he cannot deny what he feels is anything less than deep-seated affection. 

He wraps Thor in the folds of his green cape and magics him away to his home, laying his brother down in his bed. Removing his armor piece by piece, Loki examines his body for hidden wounds as he had not done since they were young princelings both, with all of Asgard and its shining wonders laid out before them.

Cleansing Thor’s skin and smoothing Thor's hair from his face, Loki feels a sudden pang of sentiment overtake him. He could be laying his brother on funeral pyre right now, instead of simply putting him to bed.

This grief stricken thought causes Loki to bend, resting his forehead against Thor’s. Waiting there, Loki screws his eyes shut against the emotions roiling inside him until he’s calmed somewhat. Loki presses his lips just aside of Thor’s mouth, bestowing a kiss, a gentle token to mark his affection for the reckless lout. Loki brushes his smooth cheek against Thor’s bristled one, for a moment wishing that there existed more tenderness between them, that he might have nerve to show these sentiments plainly and receive whatever endearments Thor would offer him without pretense. 

Loki lies down beside Thor on the bed, watching him sleep. His breath is still labored, but Thor breathes, having already started to mend under his ministrations, and that is all Loki cares about. Thor's body is a comforting heat, as he remembers, his golden skin warm and pleasing to the touch. 

He closes his eyes and curls on his side into Thor's shoulder, pretending that they are young and innocent once more.

*****

Loki wakes slowly. He's exhausted and his shoulder is stiff and screaming. His head is pillowed on Thor's chest, Thor's arms firmly around him, their legs entangled. They shifted in their sleep, unconsciously seeking each other out.

Thor is awake, the fool tightening his grip around him when he senses Loki waking, as if Thor means to keep him, as if he _could_ by brute strength alone. 

Loki is too tired to fight, but not so tired to refrain from a little mischief, so he rolls over, stretching out languid like a cat on top of Thor, slinging an arm around his neck, pressing his hips to Thor's, sliding a knee between his legs. If Thor means to keep him close, then Loki will show him how close he should be kept. 

Thor breathes a chuckle, but otherwise doesn't comment. He's tired, too, but his eyes are joyous, pleased to have Loki so near once more, even if it borders on indecent. His breathing hitches in the rise and fall, still laboring a bit, and Loki's weight on top of him can't be helping. 

Thor is strong, Loki reminds himself, he needn't worry. 

"Hi, brother," Thor whispers, his hands idling up and down Loki’s back. 

"Hi yourself," Loki says. "My, trouble has a way of finding you."

Thor hums in agreement. 

There are words upon the tip of his tongue which Loki dares not speak out loud and so rather than release them, he rests his cheek down on Thor’s chest, simply laying there for awhile, enjoying the heat of his brother's body. 

Truthfully, he's not felt such reassuring warmth since falling from the Bifrost. The spaces between Yggdrasil's branches are cold, cold enough for even a Jotun to be chilled by it. Thor has always felt hot to his touch, the feeling bringing about a sense of comfort, for never was he safer than in the shelter of his brother's embrace. 

“Thank you, brother," Thor says quietly. "Confined as I was, I would have perished there, if not for you."

"Nonsense," Loki says at once. "The God of Thunder could not have died thus,” he says. _You can never die, Thor, not without me beside you, nor by any other’s hand but mine own._

“If only that were so, brother,” Thor says. “I am as vulnerable to death as any man.” 

“Not as any man,” Loki whispers. No man has Loki in his pocket as Thor has, even if the fool doesn’t realize what he possesses. 

“How _ever_ did you find yourself at the mercy of that brat?" Loki asks. He knows how, the young mutant told him so himself, but Loki wonders how much Thor knows, how much he will admit to him. 

"Misfortune," Thor says, pausing, and it’s this hesitation that tells him that Thor knows everything-- what the youth had planned for Loki and why he went after Thor in the first place. 

"He sought me out and would not be satisfied until he spilled my lifesblood,” Thor explains. “It was luck that lended him the upper hand. Tis a difficult thing, to battle when the battlefield will not stay under your feet."

Loki's throat tightens and a whispered, "Fool," is all he can get out. 

Thor doesn't say, _It was your fault he came after me._ He doesn't comment on how Loki has curled up on top of him, clutching to him like a frightened child clinging to a doll. And he doesn't challenge his motives, how he can call for Thor's death one moment and murder someone for daring to achieve that very thing in the next. 

Instead, Thor says nothing. He lays a large hand on the back of Loki's head, gentle in his strength, reverent in his touch, his fingers carding though his dark hair absently, and Thor lets Loki hold him for a bit longer.

*****

**Author's Note:**

> If you’d like to see more detailed images, please check out the tumblr posts: click [here for Part I](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/post/36464853279/secret-admirer-i-got-you-a-present-the) and [here for Part II](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/post/37512628217/secret-admirer-part-ii-theres-a-glint) If you feel so inclined, please help spread the word and reblog!
> 
> A little explanation... I have this document with little prompts that I tinker with from time to time. My current count is 17 different "what if this happened..." little drabbles. 
> 
> ("Godchild" started out this way. Actually, all my Thor/Loki fic started this way...) 
> 
> This one went, "What if Loki had a crazed-teen secret admirer that thought he could become close to him by killing Thor?" 
> 
> So instead of a dozen roses, he brings him Thor's bloody helmet. I kind of pictured him as Joffrey type (from Game of Thrones), except he actually has the power to do his own dirty work. 
> 
> Obviously, this young man misinterpreted Thor and Loki's relationship (this is the poor kid's intro to Thorki, lol). He's also high on a power trip, sees a kindred spirit in Loki, and wants to own him all at the same time. 
> 
> I’m kind of digging the art/drabble combo-- do you guys like it? Should I do more like this? (If you like this kind of thing, I recommend keeping an eye on my [tumblr](http://griseldajane.tumblr.com/) where I post all my artwork first.)
> 
> Questions? Comments? If you like this, let me know! I love hearing from people. :) Thanks everybody.


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